


Pretend

by KiwiBerry



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: M/M, Pretend Boyfriends, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 20:32:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiwiBerry/pseuds/KiwiBerry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras has a dinner with his parents coming up and needs to bring a friend.  Why not Grantaire?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> This is for dreamsinredandgold for the Les Mis holiday exchange. I wrote this as a pinch hit so sorry if it seems rushed! I hope you enjoy the story anyway! :)

“Combeferre, I need you to do me a favor.”

Combeferre sighed in his chair as he placed his book down, eyes moving up to meet Enjolras’ from across the room.  

“No, Enjolras, I will not go with you to your parents dinner,” he replied matter-of-factly, adjusting his glasses with a single finger.  

 Enjolras’ eyes narrowed from across the room, and he crossed his arms in protest, “You’re never there for me.”

“That’s a lie and you know it,” Combeferre shot back, slight agitation in his voice, “Just because I don’t want to be a part of this stupid little game you play with your parents doesn’t mean I’m not there for you.”

Enjolras gave a small huff and leaned against the doorway slowly, “I just need someone to be there with me. It’s nice to have someone on my side since my parents never are.”

Combeferre watched Enjolras with a twinge of sympathy before pulling out his phone from his pocket, “I guess I can find someone else to go with you.  But not Courfeyrac.  We have a date this weekend.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes affectionately, “Fine.  But make sure they know what they’re getting into before this weekend.  God forbid I should allow some poor soul to go up against my parents without proper warning.”

 

x

 

“Oh, Enjolras, darling! There you are! And you brought a friend.”

Enjolras laughed affectionately as a larger, older woman hugged him and held him tight, practically lifting him off the floor.

“It’s nice to see you too,” Enjolras laughed as he was set back down, smoothing out his red jacket just so before smiling.  He paused a moment before his eyes lit up, grabbing the person beside him and showcasing him to the woman, “Let me introduce you. This here is Grantaire.”

“Hello,” Grantaire said, waving a hand awkwardly, “You must be Enjolras mother.”

“Oh heaven’s no!” the older woman laughed, placing a hand upon her chest, “My name is Margarite, but you can just call me Maggie.  I’m Enjolras’ nanny.”

“Nanny?” Grantaire asked with a confused face, glancing back at Enjolras.

“Yes, my nanny,” Enjolras explained, “She’s looked after me ever since I was a baby.  On more occasions than not she was more of a mother to me than my own mother ever was.”

“Now, Enjolras,” Maggie interrupted, raising a small finger, “Don’t talk about the Mademoiselle like that.  She is a lovely lady.  She just gets her priorities scrambled up every now and then.”

“Right,” Enjolras muttered, looking around the room, “Speaking of mother, have you seen her?  The sooner I find her, the sooner I can leave.”

Maggie frowned then, and clasped her hands together, “Last I saw she was in the parlor.  Now, if you’ll excuse me.  It’s almost time for dinner.”

Enjolras watched as Maggie disappeared before turning to Grantaire, “Come along.  We might as well get this over with.”

In the parlor, Enjolras and Grantaire found a small crowd of people around a man and woman sitting perfectly upon a small couch.  The woman spoke, waving her wrist whimsically, and the crowd laughed in reply.  When she noticed them enter, however, her hand fell into her lap and her lips pursed slightly.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she motioned to the crowd, parting them slightly as they began to disperse, and her husband followed wordlessly.

“Enjolras,” the woman greeted, nodding respectfully to her son.

“Mother,” Enjolras echoed back, voice just as cold and distant, “Father.”

“It’s nice to see you,” his mother continued, glancing back at Grantaire who stood a step behind Enjolras, “And I see you’ve brought your...boyfriend.”

Enjolras smirked at his mother’s words and grabbed Grantaire by the elbow, pulling him close, “Mother.  Father.  This is Grantaire.  My...boyfriend.”

Grantaire stood frozen by Enjolras side, face as white as a ghost, as Enjolras’ mother looked him up and down with a scrutinizing gaze.  Before she could speak though, a bell rang out in the room and an elderly man announced that dinner was served.  

“Well,” Enjolras’ mother said, clasping her hands together, “Why don’t we continue this conversation over dinner.  Shall we?”

   

 

x

“Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“Tell you what?” Enjolras asked, confused as to why the other had dragged him out of the parlor and into one of the empty halls nearby.  Grantaire sighed, running a hand through his exasperatedly.

“Why didn’t you tell me,” Grantaire repeated, meeting Enjolras gaze, “that your parents think I’m your…”

“Boyfriend?” Enjolras finished and Grantaire nodded, slumping back against the opposite wall, “You weren’t supposed to be, you know, but I may or may not have gotten into a fight over the phone with my mother and told her that my...boyfriend…would be coming.”

Grantaire groaned, letting his head fall against the wall, eyes closing in distress.

“Oh come off it,” Enjolras protested, stepping toward Grantaire, “It’s not so terrible.  We just have to get through dinner and then we can both go home and forget this ever happened. Okay?”

Grantaire paused a moment, letting everything sink in, before opening his eyes, “Fine.  But you owe me.”

“Fine” Enjolras echoed back, reaching a hand out and placing it on Grantaire’s shoulder encouragingly, “It will all work out, I promise.”

Grantaire shook his head with a forced smile, “Whatever you say.”

Enjolras nodded before walking toward the dining hall.  Grantaire followed suit but was stopped a few feet from the entryway by a hand from Enjolras.

“Enjolras?” Grantaire asked, worried.

“I-” Enjolras began, pausing a moment to regain himself “I’m glad you’re here.  With me.  Really I am.”

“Hey,” Grantaire assured, placing his hand gently over Enjolras’, “Don’t worry about it.”

A moment passed between them in silence before Enjolras turned and entered the dining room, Grantaire following with as much confidence as he could muster.  

 

x

  
 “So what do you do for a living?”

Grantaire looked up expectantly, waiting for someone to reply, before noticing the question had been directed at him.

“What?” Grantaire blanched, unsure as what to say.

“I asked what you do for a living…” Enjolras’ mother repeated, trailing off at the end as if Grantaire’s name had become lost to her.

“Grantaire,” he supplied, wringing his hands together nervously under the table, “And.  Well.  I’m, uh, an artist.  In the most liberal sense, really.”

Enjolras gave Grantaire a look as he noticed his mother’s face fall.

“Well, isn’t that lovely,” she smiled, looking at her husband, “I’m so glad our dear, darling boy has decided to elope someone of the...alternative sort, don’t you agree dear?”

“Mother,” Enjolras interrupted, cutting off his father’s reply, “Grantaire is actually an amazing artist.  Really, you should see some of his drawings. They’re spectacular.  He actually just sold one of his pieces the other week for quite a bit of profit.”

Grantaire opened his mouth to speak but Enjolras’ mother beat him too it.

“Is that so?” she asked to no one in particular, picking up her wine glass to take a sip before continuing, “Well, I should sincerely hope if you two ever get...serious, one of you will procure an actual career.”

“Painting can be a career,” Grantaire heard himself say before he could stop, “Ever heard of VanGogh? Dali? Monet?”

Enjolras’ mother narrowed her eyes slightly, “Yes, I have.  I believe we own a few of Monet’s originals, if I’m not mistaken.  But just because you can hold a brush doesn’t mean you have talent.  Or any future in a career as an artist either.  I mean really, I wonder what you’re mother or father have to say about all this.  I, for one, would never allow my child to fall in with such foolish endeavors as-”

Enjolras moved to defend  but Grantaire beat him too it, standing quickly and quietly.

“Excuse me,” he said in a low voice and flashed a small, sad smile before walking out of the room.  

“Well, mother,” Enjolras began then, standing himself upright as well and pushing in his chair, “I do hope you’re happy.”  With that he left as well, quickening his relaxed pace as he came to the doorway, rushing by as he began to look high and low for Grantaire.

 

 

x

  
“There you are.”

Grantaire didn’t bother to turn around; he knew the voice behind him all too well.

“Ep’s coming to pick me up,” Grantaire explained, scrolling wordlessly through his phone, “Sorry I couldn’t stay longer.”

Enjolras was silent as he took a seat beside Grantaire on his parent’s front steps, shoulders brushing lightly in the process.

“Don’t worry about it,” Enjolras reassured, looking out across the empty front yard of his parent’s home, “Really.  My mother can run her mouth at the worst of times-”

“No, no.  She’s right,” Grantaire interrupted, pocketing his phone with a sigh and resting his face in his hands, “I’m nothing but a fuck up.  She knows it.  My parents already knew it.  It’s not really breaking news anymore, is it?”

Enjolras straightened then, placing a soothing hand on Grantaire’s arm, “No, it’s not.  But only because it’s not true.”

“Don’t try to comfort me, Apollo, I know that I’m-”

“But you’re not!” Enjolras said, voice rising slightly, “Grantaire, listen to me. You’re an amazing artist, really, and you have so much talent. And you’re brilliant, absolutely brilliant! I know you don’t like the others to see it but it’s true.  My mother doesn’t understand this Grantaire, maybe no one does, but I do.  Okay?”

Grantaire was silent for a moment and when he looked at Enjolras he had tears brimming in his eyes, “You don’t really mean that.”

“But I do, Grantaire,” Enjolras corrected, holding one side of the other’s face tenderly, “I really do.”

Grantaire watched Enjolras for a moment, searching his for something before leaning in close.  Enjolras met him halfway and soon he was kissing Grantaire, small and sweet and loving; enough to let Grantaire know that Enjolras meant every word he had said.  

A car horn interrupted them then, and Grantaire laughed when he saw Eponine’s car pull up in front of them. 

“Oi, lover boys,” Eponine yelled, rolling down the window, “Break it up.  This is a nice neighborhood.”

Grantaire laughed as he flicked Eponine off and kissed Enjolras once more, this time more deeply and greedily than the first.  When he pulled back, Enjolras let out a small breath and licked his lips subconsciously.  

“Well,” Enjolras said, watching Grantaire stand, “I guess you should get going then.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire replied, kicking his shoe distractedly in the dirt, “See you tomorrow?”

Enjolras nodded, “Tomorrow.”

With that Grantaire gave a small wave and hurried over to Eponine’s car, hopping in the passenger seat.  Eponine waved at him as she pulled away but not without threatening him about how if he hurt Grantaire he’d have to answer to her.  Enjolras just laughed and waved them away before finding himself alone outside, the cool air whipping through his skin. He looked back at his parents house, hearing the noise and commotion from within, and stood.  But instead of going back inside, he took the steps two by two and walked off his parents property and into the night.  

Tomorrow would be here before he knew it and he had a lot to do before then. 


End file.
